“When Ruby
became bedridden, Stacy and I read Wordsworth to her. She insisted it be Wordsworth,
the master poet of life, death, mystery, and the divine. She specifically
wanted to hear his words of ‘splendor in the grass … glory in the flower …
grieving not, rather find[ing] strength in what remains behind.’ This was Ruby,
doing it her way – even in death, which she faced in a blaze of glory, with
red-pink lipstick and beautiful words to take on her journey.
Even though she
was a devoted mother, grandmother, wife, friend, coworker, she was also her own
brand of woman. No easy feat, since she defined life on her terms – all the
time. And when it came to our friendship, she only demanded we have fun.
Ruby, Stacy, and
I had lots of fun. We danced the tango with a professional on my concrete slab
outside, went skinny dipping in my pool at midnight, held séances with psychics
in NYC, traveled, ate cake and hot buttered bread – Ruby’s favorite. Watched
movies, spa’d every three months, and talked all the time.
For over fifteen
years we shared the ups and downs of each other’s lives – marriages, births,
adoptions, separations, divorces, and got through it all with a shared sense of
empathy and all-consuming commitment to being strong, hopeful, and wild at
heart. And I am eternally grateful for Ruby’s example.
In Arthurian
mythology, one could only be knighted at King Arthur’s Court after proving
courage, temperance, and loyalty, and in her life and death Ruby aced all
three. So here’s to you, Ruby, and that round table in the sky: may you bring to
it your own touch of elegance.”
My memoir, "The Continent of Ruby," available at:
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